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sigh. “The wiser waken comes to Sanctuary early in the morning. He won’t wait until all the beautiful
witches have been selected by others. Oh, no.” She snickered. “You’ll be
claimed immediately, my dear. No worries, there.”
    “Claimed?” Saylym’s jaw dropped. “It sounds positively
medieval.”
    “Quite, I’m sure.” Eldora rolled her eyes. “But the wakens, they’re so horny when they
arrive, all they’re thinking about is getting between a pretty witch’s thighs.”
    Saylym barely stifled a gasp at the old woman’s lewd
remark. She didn’t want to be claimed, certainly not by a horny madman who
believed he was a male witch and wanted to quench his hunger between her
thighs.
    “Oh,
yes. Some handsome waken will want you the moment he sees you. You can
just bet he’ll mark you.”
    Oh joy. That was definitely reassuring. A bubble of
laughter escaped Saylym before she could prevent it. She couldn’t help but be
amused at the way the aged woman rambled on, explaining things to her, as
though she was senile. Beltane? Claimed? Marked? Ridiculous. It sounded
as if the crone believed they lived in Pagan Druid times or something.
    She made a mental note to stay inside the shop that day,
even if it meant returning to her home and facing the demon bed after she
closed. No waken was sneaking into
Sanctuary this morning and claiming her. She smothered a laugh. Jeez, she was
buying into Eldora’s tale of witches and wakens.
      “The young males
come for the Maypole Festival, you know,” Eldora picked up where she’d left
off. “There will be bonfires on the mountain tonight. Then the wakens will come down and start selecting mates.” She popped her knuckles and laughed.
“That is, if they can charm a pretty witch into it. Nothing like Beltane to get
the juices flowing, you know. Hot, handsome wakens in search of hotter
nookie.”
    Saylym choked. Good grief, a knuckle-popping granny
thinking about male witcheslooking
for sex. She had to get away from here, now, before she exploded with
hysterical laughter.
    Eldora cackled sharply, nodding. “Your Prince Charming is
coming for you soon.”
    “Uh-huh.” Saylym rolled her eyes. “Well, have a nice day,
Miss Eldora. I’m off to the shop. Let’s hope I have lots of customers today.”
    “Not
today, dear. Today is for other happenings.”
    Pausing to study the woman, Saylym pursed her lips. One of
them was for sure senile, because for just a moment, the old woman sounded
exactly like her mum. Yep, she was losing it. First, she thought the crone
resembled the cab driver, now she thought she sounded like her mum.
    She was in trouble here. She needed something normal,
something to cling to. Was there any hope for a failing mind? She winced.
Probably, not.
    Saylym took off down the street, determined to escape
Eldora and her wild ramblings. Pausing now and then, she took in her
surroundings. Sanctuary was a quaint, historical town, populated with females
who seemed wary of newcomers. Still, they’d been kind to her, and they seemed
to like her shop.
    It might be early spring, but fat tubs of Lenten roses
perched on the boardwalk, their pale green, lavender, burgundy, and creamy
white blossoms complimented their leathery, evergreen foliage. Spaced at
intervals, the cheerful blooms provided vibrant color to the town square.
    Enough antique stores filled the town to satisfy the most
avid collector. Before she could think more on the oddity of how small the
homes were surrounding the village, a pillory, two stocks, and a whipping post
in the town square drew her attention. The whole effect was nostalgic, but at
the same time, it always sent shivers of apprehension skittering down her
spine. At one time, people had suffered from the use of those wicked
instruments. If it was up to her, she’d have them torn down and burned.
    Who wanted a reminder of pain?
    Saylym passed on quickly. Excitement zipped through her
blood. There was something about this town, its